


Sectumsempra

by AnnaCaldwell333



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU?, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Graphic descriptions of gore, I'm not sure how to tag this..., M/M, Minor Character Death, Pre-Slash, Sectumsempra AU, Violence, be careful if descriptions of blood squicks you out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-06-03 15:51:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6616468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaCaldwell333/pseuds/AnnaCaldwell333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which spells aren't cast and blood isn't spilled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything. Please don't sue me, I'm a poor college student with no money.

“ _ Draco Malfoy was standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink, his white-blond head bowed. _

_ ‘Don’t,” crooned Moaning Myrtle’s voice from one of the cubicles. “Don't . . . tell me what’s wrong . . . I can help you. . .’ _

_ ‘No one can help me,’ said Malfoy. His whole body was shaking. ‘I can’t do it. . . . I can’t. . . . It won’t work . . . and unless I do it soon . . . he says he’ll kill me. . . .’ _

_ And Harry realized, with a shock so huge it seemed to root him to the spot, that Malfoy was crying — actually crying — tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin. Malfoy gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into the cracked mirror and saw Harry staring at him over his shoulder. _

_ Malfoy wheeled around, drawing his wand.” _

_ — Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, pg 521-522 _

 

“Wait!” The words were torn out of him in a nearly girly shriek.

Malfoy paused, taking half a step back at the outburst. He continued to tremble, his wand wobbling between his fingertips.

Harry realized he had raised his hands, as if in surrender. He lowered them.

Malfoy wiped his face with his free hand, and even from a distance Harry could see his shirtsleeve came away wet. The dark grey eyes that usually held so much contempt were almost white with fear, and his face, commonly twisted into a sneer, was flushed and puffy from crying.

“What do you want, Potter?” The words were biting, but the tone was soft, defeated. “Come to humiliate me? Run to the Gryffindors and tell of how you found Draco Malfoy crying in the bathroom?”

“No!” Harry sputtered, taking a step back. 

“Well then what have you been doing, following me around all year?” Harry watched as Malfoy noted his flinch, “You can’t have thought that I hadn’t noticed? You’re anything but subtle.”

Harry cleared his throat, “I wanted to know what you were up to.”

Malfoy laughed, a harsh bitter sound, nearly manic in timbre. “Like it matters anymore.” He lowered his wand, turning back to the sink, resuming the hunched position he held when Harry entered the room. “Go, tell Dumbledore you caught the big bad Death Eater.”

Harry bit his lip, tasting more than feeling when the skin split, “Why do you hate me?”

Malfoy’s shoulders tensed, his head swinging around until the barest hint of his profile was visible, “You hated me first.”

Harry scowled, “No, I di — “

“Yes you did. I saw it on your face, at Madame Malkin’s, and then on the train.”

Harry bit back a snarl, this was ridiculous, “You insulted Ron’s family.”

“Only after he insulted mine.”

Now that he thought of it, Ron did laugh at Malfoy, but . . .

“You threatened us, though!”

“I was  _ eleven _ , and had just had my friendship rejected, how did you expect me to act?” He bit out the words, but his voice was laced with a pleading tone.

Harry’s mouth hung open, his mind racing to find an answer.

Malfoy chuckled darkly, “It’s not like you ever bothered to give me a chance anyway.”

It occurred to him, as he watched Malfoy lower his head, that maybe this wasn’t all Malfoy’s fault. He was right: Harry hadn’t even thought twice about rejecting the hand that had been held up to him. And maybe Malfoy shouldn’t have been so cruel, but Harry hadn’t exactly been an angel either.

It was clear to Harry now, his view of Draco Malfoy had been twisted then, and it could very well be that way now as well.

He had been obsessed with proving that Malfoy was up to something, that he was in league with Voldemort, and spent the year wondering why no one could see what he saw as he followed the dot on the map.

And Harry was right, Malfoy  _ was _ up to something. But maybe he had been wrong about Malfoy’s choice in the matter. Harry knew what happened to those who failed Voldemort, and that he would do nearly anything to save his friends and family, so why was he faulting Malfoy for trying to save his? 

_ Has anyone even offered him help? _

The thought vanished almost as soon as it came into existence. Harry knew the answer to that question, and the truth of the matter hit him like a shovel over the head.

All of them had failed Draco Malfoy, from the moment he had stepped into the halls of Hogwarts. Slytherins were rarely held in high esteem, and the Malfoy name didn’t exactly help matters.

So here they were, the Boy Who Lived and The Boy Who Has No Choice. What was he to do with this realization?

“Mal . . . Draco,” Malfoy spun around at that, his swollen eyes wide with shock. He looked all of fourteen like that. The increasing guilt was thick in Harry’s throat, “I can help you.”

“No one can help me,” Malfoy repeated, his tone blank, flat.

Harry took a step forward, Malfoy taking one back, clutching at the basin behind him, “I can. Dumbledore can. We can get Order members to your house tonight, get your mother to safety, and you, and . . .”

And what? He couldn't even be sure that the Order could get to Narcissa Malfoy in time, let alone secure a place for her husband.  _ Don’t make promises you can’t keep. _

Malfoy seemed to have similar thoughts, his mouth twisting up in a mockery of a smile at Harry’s pause.

Harry changed tactics. “You said that you couldn’t do it. So whatever Voldemort —”  Malfoy flinched at the name, “ — is having you do, you’re failing, which means that your family will die anyway. What do you have to lose?”

Malfoy crossed his arms, face torn. The silence stretched between them, all the while Harry watched a series of emotions flicker across his face, through his eyes, grey and hard as stone. Fear. Hope. Resentment. Sadness. Anger. Disgust. Distrust. Resignation.

And then, slowly, he nodded, refusing to make eye contact with Harry.

“Okay,” he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in, “Okay, let’s go get Dumbledore.”

He turned to leave, steps echoing throughout the room. He started when a thin hand grabs at his sleeve.

Harry grabbed for his wand, preparing to swing around, a curse forming on the tip of his tongue. But when the hand did nothing but give another slight tug at his pause, he faced Malfoy.

His resignation had turned to determination, “There’s something I have to do first.”

 

“So this is what you’ve been working on.”

An object to Harry’s immediate left fell off its shelf, shattering against the floor. Draco jumped back, eyes wide. Harry ignored it, running the pads of his fingers down the worn wood of the cabinet. “What does it do?”

Malfoy wrapped his arms tightly around himself, “It’s a vanishing cabinet.”

He scoffed at Harry’s blank stare. “It’s used for transport. There’s another one in Borgin and Burkes. I was attempting to repair it.”

Harry glanced around, at all of the objects hidden away by generations of Hogwarts students. He glanced back at Malfoy, “What, exactly, was your assignment?”

Grey eyes bored into green, blank and glazed over. Harry could see it, plain in his eyes:  _ He doesn’t want to tell me  _ and  _ He’s wondering how I’m going to turn around and stab him in the back.  _ But at the same time:  _ He doesn’t have any other options.  _ Draco seemed to draw himself up before he said, “I was to kill Dumbledore and repair the cabinet for Death Eaters to come through.”

Anger rose up in Harry’s chest like a wave, threatening to crash down over him. He pushed it down as Draco sunk down into himself, all the haughty pureblood confidence gone.

Harry closed his eyes, “What’s important is that you’re on our side now. The cabinet’s still broken, right?”

Draco nodded slowly, his movement cautious. 

“Alright, let's go talk to Dumbledore.” Harry strode past Malfoy, only to be stopped again by his hand on Harry’s arm.

He turned to him, surprised to see his eyes tearing up.

“I’m sorry,” he said raggedly, his eyes meeting Harry’s desperately.

Harry searched his eyes, finding no hidden truth in their depths. He nodded slowly, “Alright.”

Draco bit his lip, letting go of Harry’s arm and nodding along with him.

Harry offered a small smile, reaching out to clasp Malfoy’s shoulder, “Let’s go get your mother.”

Malfoy gave a twist of his lips as well, the last traces of resentment fading from his face, and then, simultaneously, they swung open the Room of Requirement doors. As he strode past the heavy oak, Harry couldn’t help but think,  _ This will change everything _ .


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want to see her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a year, and I'm deeply ashamed. I'm going to attempt to update more often, but no promises.

He couldn’t breathe. The air was humid, wet, hot against his frigid skin, despite the wind howling through the nearby trees. Potter’s hands were like a brand around his forearms, failing to pull him away. Heat and smoke and people pressed up against him from all sides and dirt was mixing with his blood and it burned and he couldn’t _breathe._

“ _Draco_ ,” Potter tugged him around, pulling Draco’s eyes away from the horrific sight and into the flat of his chest. One hand settled on Draco’s neck, another on his hip, drawing him close. It was an almost awkward fit, them being about the same height. Potter pressed his cheek against Draco’s, his breath brushing soft against his neck. Draco dragged in a ragged breath, the physical pain dissipating as the mental, emotional, grew all the worse. An ugly sob burst forward from his raw throat, and Potter’s - _Harry’s_ \- hand rose up to tangle in his hair and drag him even closer. Suddenly, breathing became just a little easier.

Draco felt more than saw when Granger came up alongside them, her hair brushing his cheeks as she pulled him from Potter. Her arms came around him, tugging his head into the hollow of her throat. He felt like an awkward child, curling into his mother’s arms, and that thought made fresh tears well up and sting his wind worn cheeks.

“Go,” she told Potter, and his heavy footfalls echoed the rapid beat of Draco’s heart. Of course Draco knew where Potter was going. It was where everyone was going. Where everyone was clustered around, gawking. Through the dark curls of Granger’s hair, he saw Weasley’s troubled scowl, his lips pressed into a line, his gaze fixed on the commotion in front of him. In front of Draco.

A few of his classmates started to look back at him, Hufflepuffs with pitying eyes, Ravenclaws with calculated scrutiny, Gryffindors with curiosity, and Slytherins with cold glares.

He turned his face back into Granger’s neck, taking a deep breath. Drawing away, he squared back his shoulders and started towards the crowd. Each step felt like a stab to the gut, his resolve crumbling with every footfall.

The crowd parted like a sea, leading him straight to Potter kneeling next to the figure on the ground, Dumbledore by his side. Potter scrambled to his feet, hurrying to Draco’s side and attempting to shield his view.

“No,” Draco whispered, stepping away. “I want to see her.” Potter’s hand fell away, and Draco knelt next to his mother.

Half of her face was gone. Draco could only guess that that was on purpose; what’s the point of all of this if not to send a message? And a message was much more powerful when it was recognizable. But the other half? The torn, exposed tendons and string strands of flesh and dislodged eye? That was meant to cut. Deep, like the pain that she felt when she died screaming.

The face wasn’t the worst part. She was naked, her white flesh all but gone underneath the red and black of her blood. The flesh has been stripped from her fingers, the exposed muscle raw and bloody and her lower body was in pieces, her organs spilling out onto the ground. She’s on her side, allowing the blood to pool beneath her and exposing her back, where her spine has been partially ripped out. He wanted to think that it broke enough that she didn’t feel as much at the end.

Potter knelt beside him on his right, Granger on his left, both pressing themselves up against him, burning hot against his freezing form. A hand fell on his shoulder, and when he inclined his head, he caught a glimpse of ginger hair. He wondered how he came to be in this situation. All of the wrong choices, all of the right ones, and all of the ones that led him here. On the right side for the first time in his life, with the golden trio surrounding him, at his back, but with his mother gone and her shredded remains. He traded one for the other, and now he couldn’t help but think that making the right choice wasn’t always worth it. Not if it cost you everything in the end.

Potter’s hand rose up and tangled itself in his hair, stroking through the tangles with ease. He reached out with his other hand, calloused and warm, and laced his fingers through Draco’s, his skin dark against the paleness of Draco’s frigid skin. Draco could feel Potter looking at him. He didn’t turn away from his mother, but he did lean further into Potter’s hand on his head, and gripped his fingers tight. Granger pressed tighter against him, and Weasley’s hand on his shoulder tightened.

When he finally tore his gaze away from his mother, he met the eyes of Dumbledore. Draco saw cold calculation in Dumbledore’s eyes as the old man studied the situation, his moving eyes stopping at Draco’s hand, entwined with Potter’s.

Draco knew something was brewing in the old man’s mind, but he couldn’t think of that now. He had no more energy. He couldn’t cry, couldn’t scream, couldn’t plan what he had to do next in order to keep himself alive. His mother was _dead. Gone._ Because of him. Because of the choices his father had made. That Draco had made. But none of that mattered now. It was done, over. He would have to make preparations, think and strategize about what came after this. But not right now. Mother was dead. All he could do in that moment was keep a hold of Harry’s hand, and keep his mother’s body company before it started to rot.

And he did. Even as the sky opened up and the rain began to wash the blood away. Even when everyone had trickled away back into the castle, leaving him to his grief. Even when lightning broke bright against the dark, illuminating Harry and Draco, hand in hand, keeping vigil as the world went dark.


End file.
